


Song of Runes

by Plutonia



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Canon Era, Druids, M/M, Magic Revealed, Post-Season/Series 04 Finale
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-14
Updated: 2018-05-16
Packaged: 2019-02-02 09:34:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12724062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Plutonia/pseuds/Plutonia
Summary: When Arthur confronts Morgana in the throne room, hearing the name 'Emrys' for the first time in years has his mind reeling. He gave up on finding his soulmate long ago. Now he's supposed to believe that not only is it an old man, but also a sorcerer?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> so i guess i will upload this for the time being, to stop myself from editing the beginning for what feels like the 500th time. it's unbeta'd, so i apologize if there are mistakes. it will be a short novella, i'm estimating 10-15 chapters. not exactly sure yet, that's why i left the chapter number as a question mark. updates will be slow since i dont have a lot of time to write at the moment, but i do try to work on this for at least half an hour every day. 
> 
> anyway, i would love to hear your thoughts! enjoy <3

Arthur had long since given up on finding his soulmate.

Admittedly, he did use to entertain the thought. How could he not have, what with the way bards lauded it in their epics, reciting ode upon ode of brave warriors, lost maidens, and their tragic, star-crossed love.

When he’d been freshly knighted and yet unburdened with expectations of marriage, he had often daydreamed about it—what it would be like, to find a person made only for you, who completed you so entirely that you would never want for someone else again. It had been somewhat of a guilty pleasure. Late at night in the depths of his chambers Arthur had studied the inscription on his chest for hours.

Who could she be, had he wondered, the mysterious ‘Emrys’. What did she look like? And especially, did she think about him like he thought of her? He’d imagined that she was a beautiful princess, waiting somewhere in a castle in a faraway land for her gallant prince to arrive and sweep her off her feet. At times he’d even shared his longings with Morgana, back then, when the both of them had yet to lose their innocence to the cusps of adulthood. She was one of those rare souls without any mark to her person, and had thus been eager to listen, to learn through him what she could never hope to experience.

Naturally she had also teased him mercilessly about it.

“A princess? Don’t be so foolish, Arthur. That only happens in the stories,” she had said, a mock-pitying smile gracing her lips. “It’s most likely that your Emrys will be a peasant. A freckled milkmaid maybe, on a run-down country farm somewhere in Essetir.”

He’d taken terrible offense to it. The thought alone was inconceivable—him, the heir to the throne, having a peasant for a soulmate. But in hindsight he had to admit to himself that she’d most likely been right; reality rarely played out like the songs and romances promised. Most people never met their soulmate in their lifetime, let alone fell in undying love with them. And if there was a woman out there who wore the name ‘Arthur Pendragon’ above her heart, wouldn’t she have shown herself long ago?

No, to most if not all in the land of Camelot, the soul name inscribed on their skin was simply just that. A name.

And Arthur had come to accept it, made his peace with it in his own way.

That was why hearing the word ‘Emrys’, for the first time in what had probably been years, uttered with contempt from his estranged sister’s mouth upon their confrontation in the throne room, had his legs almost give out in a single moment of shock.

“What-what did you say?”

Morgana hesitated, her hand held in front of her as she’d clearly been about to attack. A frown marred her forehead. “What?”

Arthur shook his head in disbelief, ears ringing. ‘Not even Emrys can save you now,’ those had been her words. What did she mean, save him? Where had she heard of Emrys? Could it really be that after years of having searched in vain, Morgana had been the one to find her?

Finally he looked up, meeting her eyes again. “You’ve… you’ve met her? You met my soulmate?”

For a split second Morgana paled, eyes going wide, before her face darkened again.

It happened so quickly that Arthur almost missed it, chalked it up to his imagination. But he knew her well. There had been fear in her gaze, he held no doubt about it. And his stomach coiled uncomfortably at the possible reasons why.

Having regained her countenance, an ugly smile crept onto Morgana’s lips. “Oh, this is just precious. You don’t even know.”

“Know what?” Arthur ignored the warning bells ringing in his head. If there was any chance of getting to meet his soulmate, he had to keep asking.

Morgana’s smile grew into a razor-sharp smirk. “I have to disappoint you, dearest brother. I have not met ‘her’ at all.”

“But you just said—”

“Your soulmate, I’m afraid to say, is no ‘she’ at all, my lord. It’s a man. An old man.”

All around him, both Southron and Camelot warriors muttered to each other in confused whispers. The king, bonded to a man? Could it be possible?

Arthur only blinked, taking in the information but unable to process it yet. He felt almost surreal.

“He’s a sorcerer.”

Wait. _What?_

The crowd fell silent at once.

Arthur still stood there, unmoving, with his arms hanging uselessly at his sides. All of a sudden he felt heaviness overtake his limbs, as if a great maw had opened up beneath him, to swallow him whole and not leave behind hide nor hair. A sorcerer, his soulmate? It couldn’t be, shouldn’t be true.

“You’re lying!” he bellowed, clenching his hands into fists.

“Oh, I wish I were,” sighed Morgana.

“Emrys has been a thorn in my side for quite some time now. He seems to see it as his mission to protect you,” she spat, “when all you’ve done is persecute him and my kind. Just like your father.”

Arthur shook his head. He wanted to open his mouth again and protest, order her to stop these lies. It had to be a trick. He knew his sister. She never did anything without an ulterior motive—he just had to figure out what it was that she gained from this.

But it looked like Morgana was at the end of her patience.

Before he could say anything more, she raised her hand again, mumbling a spell. Several screams could be heard, both knights and invaders scrambling to get out of the way before she unleashed her attack.

Arthur alone remained frozen on the spot. His mind was reeling.

‘What could it be?’ he thought frantically. ‘What is she gaining from saying this? Who is this Emrys, that she holds such an anger against him?’

Morgana finished her chant as he finally realized what was happening. She was about to fling her curse; he would not get away in time.

Arthur closed his eyes and gave a low exhale, bracing himself.

Seconds passed.

No spell hit him.

At last, Arthur opened his eyes again.

Morgana was staring at him with her mouth hanging open, face contorted into an ugly grimace. Mad. Her gaze trailed down to her hands, and she turned them around, flexed them. Opened and closed them. She mumbled the spell, again and again.

But still, nothing.

“H-how?”

Arthur frowned, not entirely sure what had happened. It seemed almost like her magic had left her.

“Not so powerful now, are we?” he asked, sounding entirely more confident than he felt.

Her eyes snapped back to him, fire burning in their depths. “It was him. Emrys. Seems like he saved your worthless hide once again.”

Arthur opened his mouth. “Morgana—”

“Be quiet!” she hissed. “I hope you will find him. And I hope in the name of the Triple Goddess and all else that is holy, that you will burn him. Burn him, Arthur Pendragon, until nothing but bones remain of his traitorous, maggot-filled carcass!”

And with an ear-shattering scream she burst through the lines of enemies and allies alike, in a whirlwind of black hair and cloth, and fury.

Before anyone had fully realized what was happening, she was gone.

Arthur looked after her, still unmoving. The loathing in her voice, it had been raw emotion, naked and true. She had not lied to him. Whoever this Emrys was, was her enemy. An enemy that she seemed to hate, fear even, more than she ever hated Arthur.

Emrys. The name echoed over and over in his mind. Emrys was an old man, was a sorcerer. Emrys had helped him.

Who was he?


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow… well this chapter certainly took its time. i apologize for that. working on it felt like piecing together a puzzle. now that the exposition is mostly over we can really dive in though, and the words should come more easily (i hope). 
> 
> at this point i would like to thank my two lovely betas katie and moon, without whose help i would probably still be despairing over the chapter. you guys are wonderful and deserve all the kudos <3 
> 
> with that said, i hope you’ll enjoy the chapter, and that it will hopefully make you thirsty for more :^)

The next few days gave Arthur little time to think about what had occurred. Now that they had chased the witch and her army out of the kingdom there was much to do, most of all because they had left a waste of destruction behind.

The city was in shambles—half of the houses had been ravaged, the inhabitants chased out and belongings stolen. From all over the surrounding farmlands smallfolk were coming in, asking for rations as their crops had been burned down by order of the cruel queen in wake. Even the citadel itself had not been spared from the raids, countless trinkets and valuables as well as half of the armory having been taken by the Southron.

Arthur threw himself into the work, receiving petitioners, consulting with his council and overseeing the innumerable repair processes in and around the castle grounds. He was busy from dawn till dusk, many an evening spent sitting in front of some important parchment or other, until nothing remained of his candle but a smouldering, molten soup. On some level he knew he was avoiding the problem; just the thought of the consequences Morgana’s revelations were going to bring, for himself and all of Camelot, had him feeling like the weight of the entire world rested on his shoulders.

Even Merlin was strangely solemn after the past days’ events. Sure, he fussed and hovered, and worried over Arthur’s newly acquired night-time habits, but there was none of the usual cheek that he’d come to get used to (and _fine_ , appreciate). Merlin was unhappy with him, that much was clear.

Arthur suspected it had to do with his avoidance of Guinevere, after having rescinded her banishment.

“You know, you could just talk to her,” Merlin began one morning as he helped him out of his nightclothes.

Arthur frowned. Merlin’s voice had a sullen quality to it, almost like he was—for lack of a better word—upset. The realization made Arthur look up in surprise at his servant. What did _he_ have to be upset about?

“I don’t remember asking for your opinion, _Mer_ lin.”

That finally got him a reaction, at least. Merlin raised his head from where he’d been bending over the bedcovers, and his previously apathetic face morphed into a scowl.

“Oh, I’m very sorry, Your Majesty,” he drawled, words dripping with sarcasm. “I just assumed that after more than four years of courtship, you’d actually care about her enough to not give her up at the slightest hint of your soulmate’s existence.”

“Ex… excuse me?”Arthur met his gaze in disbelief. “It’s more complicated than that. And you know it.”

Merlin gave an incredulous snort, but turned around dutifully to resume his morning chores.

Arthur glared at his back. _Meddling servants and their tendency to stick their noses where they don’t belong._ Merlin made it sound as if Arthur had no love left for Guinevere at all. It wasn’t true, he did care for her, admired her even. He never would’ve thought of making her his wife otherwise. For a short while he really had thought they could make it work. Sure, she wasn’t his promised one, and he wasn’t hers, yet in lieu of destiny or soul bonds or any such a permanent thing, they’d been comfortable together.

Then Lancelot had happened, and it had all fallen apart.

“I was not the one to end it,” said Arthur, more to himself at this point as Merlin was apparently giving him the silent treatment again. There was only the tiniest sliver of resentment in his voice. “ _She_ decided that she would rather pursue her soulmate first. The moment he showed her just the smallest bit of attention she dropped me, in spite of his scorning her for years. And he’d known full well that it was his name written on her chest, and not mine.”

He shook his head, trying to swallow down the bitterness that was rising in his throat. Having finished dressing himself, Arthur plunked down at the table, staring at the breakfast Merlin had laid out for him.

How was it that everyone he cared about ended up betraying him?

He stabbed one of the sausages with his knife, chomping down on the meat in fitful bites.

First his family, then his best knight and even his betrothed. Could it be he was cursed? Was there sorcery at work, or was he just unbearable enough as a person? Who would be next? _Merlin?_

Arthur snorted, shoveling bread and egg into his mouth in rhythmic, jerky movements.

It would not surprise him. Merlin had evidently not taken well to these recent developments. He might have tried to hide it behind goofy smiles, but Arthur was well aware that both Lancelot’s death and Guinevere’s banishment had taken a toll out of his usually so carefree, cheerful servant. It was no wonder. He and Lancelot had been close since the day they’d met.

(It had long been subject of envy to him—how easy their comradeship, how Merlin had smiled in Lancelot’s presence, how he had seemed to open up to him in a way he rarely would with his king.)

Thinking about it, Arthur couldn’t help but to feel a bit possessive. Merlin may be a fool and a klutz, but he had been _his_ first true friend. The first person to see just another man in him. To speak up against him with brazen cheek, yet believe in him when he was at his lowest. He had been the one to encourage Arthur to seek love regardless of station, regardless of what his father, or fate, or anyone else might’ve thought.

However, an invisible barrier had always remained between them.

_Maybe I deserved their betrayal_ , Arthur mused, gulping down a handful of grapes. _If even he is unhappy with me._

He chanced a quick look at the man in question, who was still bustling about, completely ignoring his presence. Could it be? Could even his last and only friend be capable of plotting behind his back?

No. Merlin was good and true. If Arthur was certain of one thing, it was the fact that _he_ would never betray him.

He guided a goblet full of warm buttermilk toward his mouth.

“You know, if you keep eating like that I’m going to have to make modifications to more than just your belt. What would the people say if their king couldn’t fit his royal arse onto the throne anymore?”

Arthur almost spat out his drink, choking down the liquid in surprise. He wheezed, knocking on his chest to try and cough it up again. After a few moments he regained his breath, throat raspy like sandpaper.

“Do you have nothing better to do?” He sent Merlin what he hoped amounted to a decently annoyed glare, but his heart wasn’t really in it. In reality he felt greatly relieved; it looked like his servant had regained at least some of his usual insolence.

Merlin was looking at him. He had that strange, rare glint of wisdom in his eye. “It’s still getting to you, isn’t it? The whole soulmate thing.”

Arthur made a face. He should’ve known. There was no hiding things from Merlin—somehow, he seemed to attune to every one of his moods. How he did it, how he broke through Arthur’s kingly facade time and time again, he had no idea.

It was almost as if they were linked in some way.

“Do you have a guess who he could be?”

“No,” said Arthur, resting his chin on his hands. It wasn’t the full truth; he did have an inkling. But the thought was too unsettling to consider. There was only one old man, one sorcerer, who had ever been willing to help him. Dragoon the Great. The man who had killed his father.

His soulmate could never do that, betray him such a horrible way… could he?

Although, the fact that they were destined had certainly not stopped Lancelot from rejecting Guinevere time and time again.

_It’s not possible. It cannot be him!_ Arthur jumped up abruptly, legs straightening with such a jerk that his chair was kicked back behind him. “Merlin, get me my armor and sword. And saddle the horses,” he barked. “We are riding out.”

It was not according to his schedule. But he needed this, needed to move around and clear his head. Most of all though, he needed _answers_.

“Wait. Out? Where are we…?” Merlin seemed ready to protest, but then took a look at Arthur’s face. His shoulders slumped, and he nodded in compliance. “As you wish. Sire.”

Merlin proceeded to prepare for their travel in complete silence, responding only with nods and shakes of his head when asked a question. His gaze remained absent, unseeing, as if he was was present and yet not fully there at the same time.

Arthur wanted to yell at him. Where had he gone wrong—they’d been making progress earlier. It was maddening, _he_ was maddening!

Only when the both of them had assembled in the courtyard, ready for departure, did Merlin speak up again. “You should forget about Emrys. Who knows what kind of person he is? Why not try to settle things with Guinevere instead, and move on?”

Arthur huffed. “It’s not like you would understand. Do you even have a soulmate?”

He received no reply. Instead Merlin’s gaze went to the gateway, to look at their path ahead.

“Alright. Let’s get going,” Arthur said, mostly to himself. What did he care whether or not Merlin talked to him anyway? It was not like he owed him anything. He was the king and Merlin was his servant, no point in trying to overcome this gap between them. It would always remain there.

He had greater things to worry about. To find out the identity of his soulmate, there was only one place he could seek, one place where he could hope to get answers. There were not many in Albion who could know the identity of such a sorcerer, if he existed. And those who could did not mean well by him. Rightfully so.

He would need to make peace with a people to whom he long owed atonement, to finally make good on his promise that he gave the lost soul of that boy months ago.

He would seek out the druids. He would find out who Emrys really was.

Even if he was not going to like the answer.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have no words for how sorry i am that it took me so long to write this. all i can say is - uni got quite demanding there for a week or two, where i had virtually no time for anything except eat, sleep and study. for that very reason i can’t make any promises about how quickly the next chapter will come, except that it WILL come, eventually. i am working on this slowly, but steadily. thanks for all the overwhelming support and encouragement, i really am floored by how many people are liking this silly little story! 
> 
> oh, and doing a little advertisement: if you’d like to talk to other merlin fans about the series and/or squee about writing and fanfics some time, you should definitely come join the [merlin chat](http://us19.chatzy.com/merlin-chat). much love <3

Their journey through the forest too was spent in silence. With each clop of his mount’s hooves on soft earth Arthur’s shoulders felt a bit lighter. The woods always had this calming effect on him—the quiet rustling of leaves, the chirping of the birds high above their heads, the swift movement of game through the undergrowth—it was a stark difference to the hectic life inside the castle.

Out here, no petitioners would wait for him, no court to watch his every step. No advisors that would look at him with disapproving eyes, thinking about the many ways in which he failed to live up to his father. No. It was only him and the wilderness here. (And Merlin, of course.)

Speak of the devil. “Is it much further?” Merlin broke the silence just at that moment. “Where are we even going?”

It seemed he was still angry with Arthur. He’d spoken nonchalantly, as if he cared naught for the answer, yet a subtle note of curiosity was hidden behind his words. The fool. When was he going to learn that Arthur too could read him like a book?

“Don’t you know, Merlin?” he replied finally. “Curiosity killed the cat.”

A huff was heard from behind. “I was—I’m just wondering, since I heard you telling the castle steward we were going for a hunt. This isn’t our usual hunting territory.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. Even when he was supposedly in a sulk, his manservant couldn’t stop fussing. “Don’t be such a girl, Merlin. It’s not like we’re going on a two-man bandit raid. If it were anything dangerous, I wouldn’t be taking you, would I?”

This prompted a string of indignant muttering, and Arthur was pretty sure he heard a “prat” in the jumble of words somewhere.

He couldn’t suppress a satisfied grin. He would just have to get Merlin to fall back into their usual banter, and things would be alright again. Wouldn’t they?

Arthur shook his head, looking forward again. He could not allow himself to dwell on this. Right now, there were more grave problems to consider. He had to focus on Emrys and the druids first and foremost. After all, what did it matter if he had an argument with his servant, when it was the kingdom that was at risk?

And yet, to think about heading into the unknown without Merlin’s whole-hearted support… it gave Arthur an uncomfortable twinge in the chest.

When their horses stepped into the next clearing, a man clad in an earthen-brown cloak was already expecting them.

“Arthur Pendragon”—he pulled down his hood to reveal the very same druid chieftain who had years ago given him the cup of life—”we have awaited your arrival.”

Arthur had to refrain from bowing his head in shame. Last time they met, he had not exactly been courteous with the druids, threatening a young boy to convince them to hand over the artifact. Another great wrong he would have to right. Now was the time.

“You knew I was coming?” he asked, trying to keep the uncertainty out of his voice.

The druid took a look behind his shoulder, then back at him. He bowed deeply. “Your Majesty. We have known for a long time that you would seek us on this day. The advent of the Once and Future King has been marked in the stars since the beginning of time itself.”

Arthur furrowed his brows. “The… Once and Future King?” Strange. He’d heard that term somewhere before.

“Yes,” said the man. “With Emrys at his side, he will unite all of Albion.”

Emrys. Again it was him. “Then you know why I’m here.”

Arthur jumped out of his saddle, swiftly landing on the forest floor. He took a hand to his sword belt and opened up the buckle. Laying the sheathed sword at the druid chieftain’s feet, he knelt in front of him.

“I come in peace. I ask forgiveness for my crimes to your people and… I would like to make amends.”

For a few moments the man regarded him, not saying a word.

Arthur resisted the urge to bite his lip. He met the pensive gaze head on, trying to convey sincerity and goodwill.

“Very well,” the man answered at last, “then follow me.” He turned around and dove right into the maze of shrubbery.

Arthur steeled himself for a moment before he went after him.

He didn’t have to turn around to know Merlin close on his heels.

After a few twists and turns, they stepped out of the undergrowth into a small valley, half hidden in between two cliffs. Arthur took everything in with wide eyes.

Colorful garlands made of flowers, berries and wild grass hung in between the branches above their heads, and strange symbols were painted on the bark of the tree-trunks in a golden-yellow color. In midst of the valley, several tents were pitched around a large fireplace, with people scuttling about in hurried steps.

A buzz of excitement hung in the air.

“You’ve come at an opportune time, Your Majesty,” said their guide, heading straight towards the large stone circle in the center where wood was being stacked, presumably for a bonfire. “We’ve been preparing for a festival of union, and would be honored to receive your blessing.”

He turned around, giving an expectant look.

Arthur blinked in confusion. “Of… of course,” he said, putting as much regality in his voice as he could muster. He had to treat this as he would any diplomatic mission. He owed it to the druids.

‘If only I knew more about their customs,’ he thought, throwing Merlin a questioning look before he could stop himself.

His manservant merely shrugged, face unreadable.

_Oh, well._ Arthur shook his head. What could he expect—it wasn’t like Merlin was somehow an expert on druid culture either. They would simply have to tread carefully.

“Please have a seat, Your Majesty,” prompted the druid chieftain, gesturing to the rocks. “We request that you make yourself comfortable while we go about finishing the preparations. As soon as everything is ready, I’ll come for you.”

He gave them one last nod, and then disappeared in between the hustle and bustle of the crowd.

“Wait—” called Arthur, raising his arm. After a few moments he sighed, letting it sink down again.

What were they supposed to do in the meantime? And how long were these preparations going to last anyway? They weren’t outfitted for a long trip; he’d rather have this mission go over quick and smooth. “Well, Merlin,” he said, flopping down on the largest boulder, “as we’re already here, you might as well make yourself useful and polish my boots up a bit. I can’t very well attend a festival in these muddy slides.”

He pulled his brown hunting boots off his feet, throwing them at his manservant’s head.

Merlin squawked, waving his arms through the air to fend off the flying footwear. They fell onto the ground in front of him, and he looked up to send Arthur an indignant glare.

Wiggling his toes, Arthur grinned at him.

“The druids walk barefeet,” Merlin replied, not returning the grin. He grabbed the boots, gingerly sitting down a few feet away from him, and applied himself to the work.

*

They sat there for what felt like hours. The sun had just been rising above the treetops by the time of their arrival—now it hung high in the air, fumbling with long beams like fingers through the leafy canopy.

There was no sign of the preparations being finished any time soon. Still people were milling about, hurrying from one end of the clearing to the other, carrying baskets of various sizes, ornating the tents or scattering little white rocks on the floor seemingly at random. At one point, a woman had come and offered them fresh water, served in surprisingly non-brittle cups of bark.

A few feet away from them, a group children sat on the grass in a circle, cutting patterns into wooden chips. Arthur had watched them for a while now, half out of boredom at first, but the more he was seeing the more his curiosity grew as well.

Finally he had enough; there had to be an end to this waiting, hadn’t there?

“When will I speak to your leader?” he asked a passing man.

“As soon as the festivities have concluded, Your Majesty.”

Arthur stifled a groan. How long would that even take? He didn’t have the time to sit around endlessly doing nothing. Unlike a certain manservant, who was still not talking to him.

He threw an annoyed glare at Merlin’s back.

“If I may suggest as much,” said the man, “you could join the children in rune-carving. It’s an important rite to be completed before a festival of unions, to honor the Triple Goddess.”

Arthur crossed his arms in front of his chest. “I’m not a child.”

“No, Your Majesty… I would not insinuate. But it would be an opportunity to get acquainted with our people’s customs, seeing as you came to make peace.”

He frowned, surveying the man’s face for hints of mockery. “Very well.”

Arthur stood up from his seat, and walked over towards the children. For a few moments he watched them, hesitant in how to approach. Then he puffed out his chest, and spoke as dignified as he could, “What is it that you’re doing?”

The children halted in their chatter, each looking up at him in confusion. When they realized who they were talking to, their eyes widened in slight awe.

“C-carving runes, um, Sire,” answered one of the older boys.

Arthur gave him a regal nod, stepping into their small circle and then sitting down next to the boy. “Would you show me how to do it?”

The child gave him an unsure look. “I… uh.”

“Well?” Arthur could feel Merlin’s gaze at the nape of his neck.

The boy nodded.

“Y-yes, Sire!” He handed Arthur one of the wooden chips and a small knife, and proceeded to explain, “First you have to, er, sketch the shape into the wood with the tip, so you know where to carve later. Sire.”

He looked up, biting his lip.

“You may give a demonstration,” Arthur assured.

“O-okay.” Gently, the boy took his own knife, and drew a round shape onto a bark, then a straight line that half crossed out the circle.

“To carve it you have to turn the knife slightly, and dig along the lines.” He made a scooping motion, chipping out small fractions of wood. ”There’s different runes for different uses. This one symbolizes a tree—that means protection. But there’s also household charms, fertility, luck…”

Arthur listened intently as the boy listed the different kinds of patterns and their meanings, careful to remember every detail. Most of it sounded like hedge-witch nonsense, things he might’ve encountered in the books his wet-nurse used to read him. Not even his father, ever attentive to all things magic, had seen a danger in such superstitions. ‘You must leave the smallfolk their beliefs, son, preposterous as they may be. It keeps them in line.’

But he was serious about this. He would show to the druids that he was more than just talk, and if he could accomplish that by carving trinkets with their children, then so be it—he would produce the damned-finest patterned wood-chips that he could.

Suddenly a pair of brown-clad legs appeared beside him, and his manservant plopped down onto the grass. The children fell silent once more, their mouths falling open as they blatantly stared at Merlin.

“I would like to join, too,” he said, not looking at Arthur.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay i am going to stealth-post this as a little christmas present (before i change my mind and just continue editing it forever, that is O_O)
> 
> thanks so much to katie and schweet for offering me their second opinions when i was stuck with a logical dilemma for this chapter, and for being patient angels in helping me fix it. you're both the best <3 <3 <3

“O-o-of course,” stammered the child, looking at Merlin with eyes blown wide.

Arthur frowned.

“Would you, uuh, like me to explain it once more?”

“No need.” Merlin leaned forward to grab a knife and a piece of bark from the pile. He gave the boy a slight smile. “I’ve heard your instructions just now. Go right on.”

“R-right!”

After that, they worked in silence for a while. Arthur found that he had to fight with iron will to keep focus. The urge to turn around and check on his manservant every other moment was strong.

Merlin seemed to pay him no notice, humming softly to himself as he carved pattern after pattern with surprisingly nimble fingers. He turned out to be more than just good at it, carving in such exquisite detail that even the children marveled at him. Who would’ve expected his usually clumsy manservant to be so adept at craftsmanship? Arthur swore the man was full of hidden talents.

He himself was not so successful. His pile was only half as big as Merlin’s, and his trees seemed coarse and angular, his household charms akin to ugly, contorted faces. His fertility runes resembled stick-figures more than anything else. Oh well. It was not that it mattered much. They were just wooden plaques, after all. Right? Useless for anything but being nice to look at.

The children ignored them for the most part, after they had gotten used to their presence. Although, they had seemed wary about having them in their midst at first. Almost reverent.

Arthur hadn’t know what to make of it, because he was sure he was not imagining some of their glances being directed at Merlin of all people.

‘They must be in awe of his carving technique,’ he’d thought in amusement. ‘Typical. Leave it to Merlin to entertain the young with such a useless talent.’

After the initial silence, though, it hadn’t taken all that long for the children to fall into light-hearted chatter again. Soon they began trading playful jibes amongst each other, joking and giggling and squealing, as if they were just any other group of street urchins running around in the midst of Camelot’s marketplace.

Arthur couldn’t help but smile at the thought. Children were just children in the end, no matter where they hailed from.

“Look, Gwion is making a destiny seal!” cried one of them suddenly, pointing at the boy that had explained the carvings earlier.

When the accused—Gwion—realized people were staring at him he blushed, and quickly hid the chip he’d been working on behind his back. “No I’m not!”

The children whispered excitedly.

“Ooh, I wonder who it’s for?”

“He isn’t supposed to say, dummy.”

“Maybe he’s in looo—”

“I’m not making a destiny seal!” the boy denied, stomping his foot on the ground. He looked like he was about to cry.

Arthur felt like this was the point where he should step in. “Alright, what’s this about?” He crossed his arms in front of his chest and gave everybody a stern frown.

The children stopped their bickering at once, clamping their mouths shut and hunching their shoulders. Some of them looked at him from beneath their lashes, chastised.

“They’re a special kind of rune, Sire.”

Arthur turned his head in surprise to be met with a sheepish Gwion.

The boy was looking at his feet, moving them in circles across the floor as he murmured, “T-they’re meant for the person closest to you. They… they hold great magical properties.”

 _Magic._ Arthur bit his lip. He should’ve known he would come in contact with it sooner or later.

“In what way?” he asked warily, scrutinizing Gwion. No matter his peaceful intentions with the druids, hell, no matter that his soulmate was apparently a sorcerer, the practice was still illegal in his kingdom. He would need to make that clear with the chieftain.

Gwion hesitated, shrinking back into himself. “I…”

Arthur shook his head, realizing he had to pull himself together. It was magic he held a quarrel with, not this child. There was no use in frightening him. He stood up from his seat, walked over to kneel in front of the boy, and stretched out his hand.

“I would like to learn more about your people and customs. Could you show me? It would be very helpful for my quest.”

Gwion stared at him for a few moments, taken aback.

Then, very slowly, he pulled out his arm from behind his back, and handed Arthur the plaque he’d made.

It was an intricate design, carefully drawn into the soft wood in hooks and swirls, depicting what seemed to be two birds circling each other. Arthur marveled at the handiwork, running his hand over the pattern. When he turned it sideways, he realized that the picture had a second meaning—two human hands, entwined.

“Y-you’re supposed to give it away at the end of the ceremony,” explained the boy in a quiet voice. “If it’s… if it’s accepted, the person will be able to hear your song as long as they wear it, even if the both of you are far apart.”

“That is… nice,” Arthur said, relief palpable in his voice.

As he’d suspected earlier, it seemed more akin to some superstition than any kind of sorcery. After all, such a terrible force as magic was rarely used for anything mundane like this. He felt foolish. What had he been expecting? They were just wooden chips for little children.

He looked up again, handing Gwion his rune back. “It’s very well crafted,” he said, “you have a knack for it. Keep going, and don’t let yourself be bothered by what the others say.”

The boy’s cheeks glowed from the praise. “Th-thanks, Mr. Knight. Sire.”

Arthur gave him an approving nod, then stood up and walked back over to his own pile of carvings. When he sat down again, he noticed Merlin staring at him, pale-faced and his eyes wide in what could’ve almost been wonder. His mouth hung slightly open.

“You look like a fish, Merlin. If you keep your trap open like that you’ll start catching flies.”

The children started to giggle as Merlin quickly shut his mouth, embarrassed. “Prat,” he muttered.

Well, it was an improvement from the sulking.

Arthur took up his knife and an unmarred piece of bark, and dedicated himself to the the task again. _The person closest to me, huh_ , he reflected, _I wonder who that could be. There are not many left…_

With determination he positioned the knife against the wood, and began carving intricate patterns, lines and curls.

They resembled two birds, or maybe a pair of hands, entwined.

*

By the time the chieftain stepped into their round, proclaiming “We are ready, your Majesty,” darkness had already descended upon the forest, and the bonfire alighted the clearing with warm, orange shine.

Arthur did not look up at the man as he applied the finishing touches to his carving. He’d worked on it the for what felt like hours. This one, he had a feeling deep inside his gut, needed to be good.

At last he leaned back, surveying his craft. It had turned out decently, compared to his earlier attempts.

“So you have completed a rune, Sire,” the druid leader observed.

Arthur nodded. “As your people wished, I have partaken in the ritual to learn of your customs.”

“And your desire to learn has been noticed, Your Majesty,” said the man. “You may partake in the exchange of blessings after the ceremony. It is considered great luck to receive a rune carved by a child, but adults too can give them to each other, as tokens of goodwill and appreciation. If you would follow me?”

Arthur pocketed his handiwork, and then with deliberate slowness rose from his seat. He stretched his legs, getting the kinks out of his knees and the feeling back into his toes. He’d grown used to sitting, lately, but to focus at length on such a simple, repetitive task—it had him deeply relaxed in a way he hadn’t had the chance to for a long time.

Accompanied by the excited whispers of the children, and Merlin, a constant, silent shadow in his back, he followed the man across the camping site toward the stone circle.

Many people had already gathered, muttering softly amongst each other. Some held small garlands in their hands, or chains made of leaves, creating a cordon around the bonfire. As their chieftain approached they gave way to reveal a kneeling man and a woman, who were the only ones to wear wreaths of flowers upon their heads.

The leader walked into the circle towards the couple, then turned around to face the crowd.

“It is time.”

The low muttering trailed off, and the gathered druids turned their attention towards the man in their midst.

He nodded. “We have come together on this day to witness the bonding of these two souls before the Triple Goddess. For this purpose,”—here he bowed his head towards Arthur—”we are given the blessing of the Once and Future King, and Emrys his destined.”

“And Emrys his destined,” echoed the crowd, almost in a chant.

Arthur froze.

To his left, he registered Merlin’s quiet gasp. So he’d heard it, too.

Emrys. Again, it was him. There was no rest to be had from the man, was there? It was like he was an inescapable fact of Arthur’s life.

But something about the way the druids had spoken gave him food for thought. They had received Emrys’ blessing, like they had asked of Arthur upon his arrival. That meant that they didn’t only know of him, no, they _knew_ Emrys. And the way they said his name, as if he were no mere mortal but something more…

What kind of person could that man be, for the druids to honor him so?

The chieftain raised his hands, and the ceremony commenced.

While he went on reading the rites, Arthur let his hand glide into his coat pocket, palming the rune once again. The wood felt rough under his fingertips, with small ripples in between where the carvings had been made.

It was a nice gesture, he had to admit, to gift friends and family with appreciation, even if he himself had no use for such tokens. The druids were a superstitious, but ultimately also a warm people. They had shown that much already, with their willingness to accept him into their midst even after the atrocities they had faced at his hand.

He turned his head to take a quick look at Merlin, who watched with rapt attention as the couple rose to their feet with hands clasped, speaking some kind of vow.

“...I pledge to you my living and my dying, each equally in your care...”

“...I shall be a shield for your back and you for mine...”

“...and tell no strangers our grievances…”

Arthur took a deep breath, letting the cool night air flood his lungs. Entranced he stared into the fire, warm and golden and big, as the druid leader started speaking in a strange language, words that Arthur couldn’t hope to understand. Flames sprouted upwards until they licked at the canopy above, turned the whole clearing as light as day. It was almost as if the were alive.

He dug his toes into the soft ground, a strange energy thrumming through him that made him feel like he was everywhere and nowhere at once. He was flying high above the clouds, feeling cool winds stroke through his feathers. He was the rustling of leaves in between the treetops. He was a man, tall and thin and dark. A shadow. The power was running through his every fibre, pulsating like blood.

Time seemed to have slowed down. Or maybe it had sped up? Arthur could not tell. It could’ve been no more than five minutes that had passed, or several hours.

At last, the chieftain finished by tying the hands of the two kneeling people together with a ribbon. Then, as suddenly as the energy had come, it left again, drawing from Arthur with such speed that he had to catch himself from falling.

He blinked, grasping his head as a dizzy spell overcame him. “What was that feeling?”

“Magic.”

Arthur almost missed the whispered word, spoken so quietly it could’ve come from the wind itself. Abruptly he turned around, to face a similarly out-of-sorts Merlin, who supported himself on his knees and panted heavily.

“What do you mean?”

Merlin paled. “I-I uh… it must’ve been. The druids use magic. Right?”

He rolled his eyes. “Glad you’re such an expert on the subject. What would I do without your sage advice?”

“You’d be dead five-hundred times over.”

Arthur opened his mouth, a retort already on his tongue. But then he halted—it was true, he realized.

Come what may, Merlin always stayed by his side. Even though they could never be friends, even though the barriers between them were high as castle walls, Merlin had somehow become just that.

 _The person closest to you._ In his heart, Arthur knew who it was. There was one person who had stuck with him through thick and thin. Who had always been true, and loyal, even at times so grim that he himself had doubted that Camelot would ever see peace again. Who persevered, even now when the gap between them was widening with each step he took.

He looked around.

The children had fanned out, running up to the adults in the clearing and handing out all their wooden tokens. A flock of them surrounded the wedded couple, cheering and congratulating them. Faces everywhere were alight with happiness and warmth.

There was a goodness in the air. Affection. It seemed so close, so intimate that he felt strangely like an outsider intruding upon a private scene.

Well, it was now or never. Arthur knew what he had to do.

He reached a hand inside his bag, and pulled out the rune with the birds and entwining hands. “I want you to have this,” he said, turning around to face his manservant, “it might not be much, but… I cannot deny you are my most loyal man. There is none other I could give it to.”

Merlin looked at him with wide eyes full of admiration. Slowly, he raising a hand up to his mouth, then thought better of it and let it sink again. “You’re-you’re giving this to… me?”

Arthur tore his gaze away, feeling strangely embarrassed. Why did Merlin always have to be so open, to wear every thought on his sleeve? It was almost painful to watch. “D-don’t go making such a big deal out of it. It’s just a wooden chip.”

Merlin extended an arm carefully, touching the wooden surface with only the slightest brush of his finger tips. As if he was afraid of breaking it.

“I… Thank you. It means a lot.”

Suddenly, a gasp.

They turned around in surprise.

Gwion was standing there, face white as a sheet, pointing a finger at both of them. “A destiny seal. He’s given him a destiny seal! And Em— _he_ accepted it!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the wedding vows were taken from [this page](https://www.myweddingvows.com/cultural-wedding-vows/celtic-wedding-vow)
> 
> the idea for the druid boy's name is nick's, from the [merlin chat](http://us19.chatzy.com/merlin-chat) (thanks so much !!) i highly recommend going there by the way, if you like talking about merlin and/or merthur. everyone is really nice and supportive of each other's creative endeavors ;)
> 
> thanks for reading <3


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have no words for how sorry i am that this took me so long. i fear sucky time management skills and uni work might've gotten the better of me, making me sign up for things left and right. rest assured i do not plan to abandon this story at any time, though! as a small compensation, i offer you two chapters this time instead of just one
> 
> EDIT: you may have noticed already, but i polished up the previous chapters a bit during the last weeks. nothing changed, content wise, just some stuff that got shifted around for easier understanding, so if you decide to read back, don't be confused!

The druids had fallen silent, all murmur and festive cheer snuffed out like a candle. Arthur could feel several dozen pairs of eyes on them, Gwion’s included. From an indefinite direction within the crowd came pointed whispers.

“It’s true.”

“What does this mean?”

“It’s a sign. The advent of Albion is nigh.”

Arthur furrowed his brows, turning his head to look at his servant for answers.

Merlin’s face had gone comically slack. Shoulders hunched, his hands were gripping onto the wooden plaque so tightly that his knuckles had turned white. He resembled a startled deer. “I-I don’t—” He cut himself off, pressing his lips together.

The silence stretched on. Out of the corner of his eye, Arthur detected the crackling of the bonfire, loud against the weighty stares.

Then a cheer escaped from a little girl’s lips.

“Grace unto him!”

She stormed forward, reaching for Merlin’s free hand. “Grace unto them both!”

“She’s right!”

“We must bless the gifting!”

It was as if a floodgate had opened, and all at once the entire clearing resounded in the children’s jubilant cries.

Merlin opened his mouth again, but before he could say another word he was surrounded, small hands grasping at his arms and clothes from every side. They pulled him into the stone ring, close to the bonfire, and started to jump and stomp in a circle around him. “Dance with us!”

Merlin threw a perplexed look in Arthur’s direction.

Arthur shrugged helplessly.

He was very much in need of an explanation himself. What was the druid’s deal all of a sudden? They acted as if he had just proposed to Merlin. He scoffed at the ridiculous thought. _As if that would ever happen. I’d sooner propose to Gwaine, that good-for-nothing drunkard._ Shaking his head decidedly, he sat down on one of the stones, content to let his servant have the center of attention for once.

This seemed to prod the remaining druids from their blatant staring. Slowly, the crowd of onlookers dissolved, and they fell into regular chatter again. Some went over to join the dance circle.

Merlin, still at the center of it, looked a bit lost in the sea of children.

Arthur crossed his arms in front of his chest, brows furrowed into a deep frown. _It wasn’t only the druids who reacted strangely_ , he thought. Merlin too. _Could it be I am missing something?_ He watched with closely guarded fascination as the children spun around the fire. Their footfalls formed a haunting rhythm, familiar like a long-lost relative.

A shiver ran down Arthur’s spine.

Stone-faced, he continued watching Merlin’s movements as more and more people joined in with the entrancing performance. Some of the children beckoned Arthur to join in as well, but he waved them off, reluctant to tear his gaze away even for a moment.

He observed how the light danced softly over Merlin’s face, how his long lashes threw shadows over sharp cheekbones. Observed how his initial confusion gradually morphed into a smile, almost invisible, a minimal quirk of the lips that could be missed easily if Arthur had known him less well. But a smile it was.

A strange heat pooled in Arthur’s stomach, and a fleeting thought passed through the forefront of his mind. _One could almost call him pretty._

He banished the idea as quickly as it had come. Merlin and pretty? Preposterous. He was Merlin, his clumsy, foolish, loyal servant. And a man at that. He couldn’t be pretty— _Arthur_ could not think him pretty. ‘I need a drink,’ he decided, turning around to a passing-by druid woman. “I don’t suppose you serve wine in this encampment?”

She looked at him curiously. “Wine, Sire? I’m afraid not. We are a nomadic people, so all we need comes from the forest.”

Arthur suppressed a sigh. _Should’ve figured._

“But I can offer you a cup of ambrosia, if your wish is to befuddle the senses.”

“Ambrosia?”

She inclined her head. “It’s a powerful beverage, brewed from the juice of the sweetwood tree. We drink it to connect with our ancestors and the Triple Goddess… and also, to liven things up during festive occasions.”

In other words, it was the druids’ go-to beverage if they wanted to get utterly, completely shit-faced. “Hm.” Arthur nodded, giving a wave of his hand. “I will try this tree juice of yours.”

“Very well.” She turned around, disappearing into the crowd of celebrating druids. A few minutes later, she returned with a large wooden cup. “It’s a bit early for us to start indulging ourselves, but please feel free to have as much as you like. You can call on me again if you’d like a refill.”

She handed him the cup. Inside was a shimmering, sweet-smelling liquid that sloshed around thickly when he tipped it to the side, golden droplets clinging to the walls.

Without hesitation Arthur raised the cup to his lips, emptying it in a single swig.

The liquid felt sticky in his mouth, leaving behind a pleasant burn in his throat. It tasted surprisingly good. As his chest expanded, a heady, powerful feeling spread inside him, much like the one during the ceremony.

“Is it to your taste, Sire?” asked the druid woman.

He grunted in return, raising his empty cup and prompting her to pour him another.

“Very well. I shall go and get more.”

He made a vaguely acknowledging noise as she went off again, not really listening. His eyes wandered back towards the children and landed on Merlin again.

The druids danced until the fire was reduced to but a soft glimner, and tiny orange dots sprinkled the pile of ash. Arthur downed cup after cup of the sugary, spiced beverage, relishing in the feeling of light-headedness it gave him.

When Merlin leaned against a tree to catch his breath, wiping beads of sweat from his forehead, he too was offered refreshment.

Arthur’s eyes transfixed onto the bob of his Adam’s apple as he gulped it down.

Merlin hadn’t looked his way once since he’d been drawn into the circle by the druids, yet Arthur knew he was happy. He felt the warmth in his chest right above his soulmark. The circumstances may elude him yet, but something had changed between them. Even if he wasn’t ready to think about it yet.

The more Arthur drank, the funnier his head was starting to feel. He watched Merlin—the idiot—stagger and fall straight on his nose, cup still in hand.

When he shook his head in fond exasperation, the forest spun all around him.

He ignored the feeling. _Typical Merlin_ , he thought, _falling asleep on the forest floor like that_. He attempted to get up, but the sudden movement triggered a dizzy spell, one of such magnitude that it had him leaning against his rock for support.

His eyelids were becoming heavy.

 _This isn’t right_ , a voice piped up at the back of his head. _We still need to ask about Emrys. They told us we would get answers after the ceremony._

But already he was drifting, a golden path stretched out in front of him within the abyss.

Arthur closed his eyes.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> with this chapter concludes the first half of the story. now the real fun starts. what clever plan will arthur come up with to find out emrys' identity?
> 
> thanks for sticking with me <3

The next thing he grew aware of was a rustling noise, as if a pile of leaves was being kicked repeatedly.

Arthur furrowed his eyebrows.

There was a dull pounding at the back of his skull, and his head felt fuzzy as if it had been stuffed full of wool. Throat sandpaper-dry, he swallowed, and then pulled a sour face. There was a bad taste in his mouth, like something had died there.

“Mhm?”

The rustling grew louder, followed by several high-pitched giggles.

Arthur scowled. “Damn it, Merlin, stop making such a racket. You’ll scare away all the game,” he muttered angrily, shifting around so he could move his arm.

Warmth tickled his face.

He squinted, light breaking through his lashes and blinding him temporarily. A sharp pain pierced through his forehead. _What was I—_

The view cleared up to reveal a green canopy, with dozens of people bustling about.

Arthur jumped up in alarm, ready to fumble for his sword belt. But instead of to his waist his hand flew up to his head, as the pulsing inside his skull intensified to a resounding throb. “Gods,” he groaned, leaning back as the events of the past day came back to him.

Right. The druid wedding, and the dance. _That beverage of theirs…_

His joints ached; he was still lying on the same rock he’d been sitting on last night. At least the druids had thrown a blanket over him at some point while he was asleep.

He shifted it aside, stretching his arms, and then sat up once more to take a look around.

The camp was already fully at work. Several women were walking around with baskets to clean up the waste left behind by the festivities, and the men were shovelling dirt over the ashes of the bonfire. Children chased each other across the clearing, throwing bundles of leaves into the air as they squealed gleefully. Well, that explained the noise at least.

Arthur raised his gaze to the treetops. The sun shone high in the sky, her rays peeking through gaps in between leaves and branches. It was probably close to noon.

He stood up and called over the nearest druid, an old crone carrying several rolled-up flower garlands over her shoulder. “What is the meaning of this? Why was I not woken?” he asked, chin raised and his arms crossed in front of his chest.

“Apologies, your Majesty,” she inclined her head at him. “We thought it best for you to take your time and recover. You consumed half a dozen cups of Ambrosia last night.”

Arthur huffed. “Where is my manservant?”

The woman pointed towards a tree across the fire pit, where a brown lump lay motionless on the floor. “He passed out after a few sips, Sire. If we had known his reaction would be so strong…”

He rolled his eyes. Trust Merlin to spend half his time in the tavern and still manage to be an absolute lightweight.

Arthur marched over to the huddled form, coming to a halt directly in front of Merlin’s face. He crouched down, leaned in until his mouth was hovering inches from his sleeping servant’s ear, and called in a pointedly cheerful voice, “Up and at ‘em, lazy daisy!”

“H-huh?” Merlin started, head shooting up and knocking right into Arthur’s nose.

“Ow!” Arthur’s hands flew up to cover his face. “Damn it, Merlin!”

The other man winced and put his hands to his temples. “Why are you speaking so loud?”

Arthur glared at him. “That’s what you get for being a drunkard. Come on up now, we don’t have all day.”

His only answer was a defeated groan.

As his good-for-nothing servant slowly picked himself up from the ground, Arthur took the chance to scan the camp for the druid elder. They had lost too much time indulging in frivolities already, and none of it had brought him closer to learning who Emrys was. They needed to talk now.

Eyes set in determination, Arthur took several steps forward to get a better look around the clearing, Merlin staggering after him. No sign of the man anywhere. Instead, he saw the crone from before coming out of a large tent.

Arthur approached her with an imperious gait. “Your chieftain. Bring me to him.”

“Highness?”

“We’ve been promised a talk after the end of the festivities. Do the druids intend to keep their word?

“Of course, Sire,” the woman nodded placatingly. “But surely you’ll want to break your fast first? We can’t have you going around on an empty stomach. What kind of hosts would that make us?”

“Well—”

Before Arthur could say anything else, she was already ushering him and a morose Merlin towards the tent. “Don’t you worry, your highness, we have prepared everything to your comfort already. The chieftain will see you once you’ve eaten your fill.”

Arthur opened his mouth once more, but in that moment his stomach growled loudly, making the old woman raise an eyebrow.

He heaved a sigh and turned around, following after Merlin into the tent.

*

The druids had laid out a plethora of fruits, meats and sauces for them, a meal that could only be described as a feast. After some initial hesitance Arthur dug in heartily, realizing that he had not eaten more than a snack in hours.

Merlin still seemed a bit out of sorts, barely picking at his food. Arthur refrained from saying anything more to him, but made sure to pour him several cups of clear water from a leather pouch and took note to keep a closer tab on his drinking habits in the future. It was not like he was worried, or anything; he just couldn’t do with a manservant who was constantly in such an incapacitated state.

_Of course that’s all there is to it_ , he told himself. _Why do I even feel the need to justify myself?_

_You know exactly why_ , a sceptical voice piped up in his head.

He pushed it to the far back of his mind.

When they had finished eating, Arthur helped Merlin up again, and they walked out of the tent only to find a whole party of druids already assembled there.

The chieftain was waiting at the head of the group.“Your Majesty. I hope the meal was to your satisfaction.”

“It was,” answered Arthur, bowing his head respectfully. “You have my gratitude for your hospitality in accommodating me and my servant.”

“The pleasure is all ours, Sire. Your respect for our customs and willingness to learn has been well acknowledged. We part in confidence of many fruitful future encounters.” He raised his arm to the left, from where a younger man approached, guiding their already saddled horses.

“We have prepared all you will need for your travel. May the path beneath you guide you safely on your way home, and may the skies be in your favour today. For now we part ways, but may we soon—”

“Hold on.” Arthur held up a hand. “We’re not finished here yet. You gave your word that you would tell me about Emrys after the festivities, remember?”

The chieftain furrowed his brows. “You have learned everything you need from us, Sire.”

“ _Everything I need_?” Arthur repeated, incredulously. “You haven’t told me a single thing!”

“Yet you know more about your destined than you did before you came here.”

“But-but…” Arthur caught Merlin’s eye, beckoning him to say something in his support.

He received naught but a befuddled blink.

With a sigh, he turned around to address the druid again. “None of the things I learned will help me recognise him. How can I know him?”

“You cannot, Sire. There is no way for you to see that which makes Emrys,” the chieftain said, “for he is magic incarnate and wears many faces. Trying to grasp him is akin to grasping a flowing river with one’s bare hands.”

_Another cryptic remark._ Arthur wrinkled his nose. Did they or didn’t they want him to find Emrys? “So, what you’re telling me is”—he took his time to regard every one of the faces staring back at him—“that anyone could be him? Heck, even… even Merlin?”

His servant jumped at having his name dropped, making a startled face.

Arthur rolled his eyes.

“You must trust in your destined, Sire,” implored the chieftain. “He has and will always protect you.”

“Can you not even give me the slightest hint?”

The man rubbed his chin, pondering.

“Look,” said Arthur, and maybe there was a slightly whiny quality to his voice now. Maybe his gaze was pleading. He didn’t care. ”I’ve come all this way, left my pile of duties behind to meet with you. I know it’s not my place to demand anything, but let this be a first act of goodwill between our peoples. I’m a man who intends to keep his word, and likewise do I ask that you keep yours.”

For a fraught few moments, there was silence.

Then, a nod. “Very well. I shall tell you one thing to aid your search.” The druid chieftain threw a strange look at some point over Arthur’s shoulder, then shook his head and looked him in the eyes again.

“It is a little known fact, but more often than not a pair of soulmates will be of similar age. No matter how old Emrys appears, his spirit is young.”

Arthur nodded. “So, what you’re saying is, the old man is just a disguise.”

“It may appear so, Sire.”

He exhaled slowly, not sure whether to be relieved at this revelation. On one hand, he could not have imagined having a relationship with a man that much older, but on the other hand, this brought him straight back to the beginning. How was he supposed to look for the man when all he knew of him was a facade?

“If that will be all, I will bid you goodbye now,” said the chieftain. “You have a long journey ahead of you, but we are fully confident that you will fulfill your destiny in the end. May we soon cross paths again.”

“I… yes.” Arthur considered asking for more hints, but it didn’t look like the man was going to be any more forthcoming. He would have to make do with this. “Thank you.”

They said their farewells to the rest of the druids, before getting handed the reins of their horses and a small pouch of provisions.

Arthur was just about to mount his horse when a small hand on his sleeve held him back.

“E-excuse me.” He was met with hesitant Gwion. “I…”

“What is it?”

Gwion knitted his brows. “I wanted to tell you… about Emrys.”

Arthur perked up.

“You wear his mark above your heart.” Gwion looked at him, as if in question.

“I do.”

“Then you must only follow your heart to find him.” Before Arthur could say anything to that, Gwion let go of him again. “Have a safe journey, Sire.” He scurried away on quick feet, leaving Arthur to look after him with a frown.

Follow his heart. That was easier said than done when his heart was so frequently telling him conflicting things. Trust Agravaine, it had said. He is your mother’s brother. Marry Guinevere against your father’s wishes. Find your soulmate, even though he is a sorcerer, someone who stands against all that you believe is right.

Strangely enough, he found that he had an idea how to draw him out. A battle plan. _Love truly is like war_ , he thought. _Wait for me, Emrys. I will find you._

“Arthur?” Merlin’s voice roused him from his thoughts.

He raised his head to find that his servant was already sitting on his horse, giving him an expectant look. From this angle, Arthur could easily make out the dark circles beneath his eyes and the tired lines marring his forehead, even as he tried to hide it beneath an unassuming grin.

“Are we ready?”

“Yes, Merlin, just a moment,” Arthur said as he jumped into his saddle. “Lets hope you can ride with that hangover of yours. I don’t fancy carrying you home.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I’ll manage.” Merlin waved him off, grin full of teeth.

Arthur straightened himself and looked forward. “Then let’s go.” He pressed his heels into the flanks of his mare, signalling her to move.

He was almost out of the clearing already when he noticed Merlin was not following.

“Is there something wrong?”

Merlin stared at some point to the side of Arthur’s horse, pressing his lips together in an odd manner, as if he was trying to suppress his laughter. “You’re not wearing your boots, Sire.”

_Oh, for the love of—_ Right. He’d pulled them off to annoy Merlin when they had arrived, yesterday. Had he truly been walking barefeet this whole time? “Stay put,” Arthur ordered as he jumped off his mount once more. “I’ll be right back.”

He walked back into the clearing, shooting Merlin a foul glare the entire way.

The corners of Merlin’s mouth twitched traitorously, but not a single sound escaped from his lips. At least not while Arthur was in hearing range.


End file.
